Michael Adams

Cats is less a movie than it is pain manifested into the for of a film. At first, I see these horrific creatures that God made in a manic dream. It is confusing in the sense that it veers between dancing so unique that I am watching marionettes plastered with human faces or instead human creatures who's skin has been replaced by fur. When a cat is either out of focus or shot in shadows, I feel unending dread comparable to that of a horror movie, like these abominations will attack the protagonistI have not seen yet. The magnum opus of horror, though, occurs during Bustiferjones' segment, when the fat cat takes off his coattails and I see every roll and crease, I come to the realization that all these cats are naked.